If Only You Could See Me Now
by TheOneWhoFought
Summary: Matthew and Alfred have been friends throughout high school, but things change when Matthew spills a little secret and Alfred is hospitalized. Soon, they move on with their lives, retracing the memories that they shared until they finally see how much the other had affected their lives. It's only then do they see how much they miss each other.
1. Matthew

Matthew

He entered my world like a brewing storm. At one point, he was just there, an object to look at, to dream about. He never spoke to me, never acknowledged my existence. I was just another victim under his cloud, getting soaked to the bone from the downpour. But then, he was everywhere: sneaking into my house at the depths of midnight claiming he just wanted to see me, crawling into my bed like a child with a nightmare, bounding up to me like a lost puppy in the school hallways. I soon realized he was not a storm, no; he was the sun, peaking through the clouds, waiting for the right person to brighten. And for some reason I could never explain, he chose me. So I basked in his glow, his everlasting light, with outstretched arms.

Only then had I noticed my feelings for him grow; unholy, impure thoughts. I made the mistake of telling my father who only gave me a black eye to show for it. He sent me to the church, who only seconded his opinion. As I confessed, the priest looked to me in horror. The thoughts I had were wrong, disgusting. He told me to pray, to beg our Lord for forgiveness. But I couldn't understand why I had to apologize for something I couldn't control. My mind screamed at me, saying he was right, that they all were right. I'm a disgrace, a freak, a sinner, a fag.

But my heart told me otherwise. My world now revolved around him, my sun, who was convinced that the things people said were just rumors. There was no way that his friend could possibly be gay; that the people who warned him were just mindless bullies who had no idea what they were talking about.

Little did he know.

And yet I held on to the fact that he stayed with me, still relying on me to support him even though he had a team of baseball players behind him to back him up at any given time. He chose me. He saw past what he thought was slander and continued to be my friend. My first and only friend who took the phrase "through thick and thin" to heart and I loved him in every way possible.

But soon enough, the rumors came around again, now directed towards both of us. I don't know what hurt worse; the blows I received from the tormentors or the heartbroken look he got when someone dared to say something to his face. The answer was obvious and I couldn't stand it.

I started to doubt him. Paranoia flooded my thoughts as the anxiety settled in my mind. I knew I was the reason he was hurting. I was causing him so much pain. I couldn't lose him though; not my best friend, not my brother, not my love.

I started to distance myself, feeling it was better if I let him go and forgot about our friendship, our beautiful, I'll-be-there-for-you-whenever-you-need-me friendship. It was my turn to ignore someone else, but he was not the one I wanted to get my revenge on. Never would I ever want to hurt him, but I knew it was better if we were apart. His peers would stop teasing him; stop harassing him because God knows he didn't deserve any of that. But I did. I was a repulsive bottom-feeder who deserves nothing that he could offer me. I wasn't worthy of his time or light, or anyone else's for that matter. I didn't belong here in this town or in his arms. Frankly, I found that I didn't belong anywhere.

But then there he was. Yet again, in my time of doubt, he proved me wrong. Enveloped in his warm embrace, I found the light after what felt like an eternity of blackness. I found my purpose, wrapped in his arms. For the first time in my life, I actually felt the warmth that he brought to my world. This fiery heat filled with passion that radiated off his every move fueled me to keep going. Every inch of my body sensed a certain craze. His touch, even in a non-sensual way, was intoxicating. I craved it, no; I _needed_ it just like I needed oxygen to breathe. His arms folded over my shoulders as my sobs faded. This is where I was meant to be. _This_ is my place in this horrid, cruel world, because the world didn't seem like such an awful place when I had him by my side.

Then, he said it; those three little words that ignited a flame inside of me. A simple phrase that seemed so powerful that it could cure the blind, let the paralyzed walk once again, and bring color to my once cold world. I know he meant it platonically, not in the way I felt for him, but it kept me going. It kept me sane when I was tearing at the seams, but most of all, it let me know that I was not in this alone. I had someone who would be there for me, for at least a moment's time, but it was enough.

His immune system was never the strongest. Yes, he played sports and was the strongest person I knew, but he was quite sickly; always in and out of the hospital. I was always the first to visit him though, even before his dad. I would always try to cheer him up, to make him feel better in the best way I could. But he never wanted the sympathy or the pity; he just wanted me to be there, so I was always there.

But things changed as we neared our seventeenth year of life. He was sent to a hospital in the main city and told me to stop visiting him. I was shocked to hear this, to say the least. I tried anyway though, hoping he was just being his overdramatic self, but they didn't let me in his room. The doctors and security guards physically restrained me from entering his room "upon his orders" they said. I tried a few more times, only to get the same results. Eventually, I gave up. I gave up on him, and it hurts everyday to know that I failed him.

But things changed; he changed. He left my life just like he came in, strangers, to a distant memory. He came into my life with a storm and left with a drought, but I could never hold that against him. He will forever be my friend, brother, and hero, Alfred F. Jones.


	2. Alfred

Alfred

It's truly a phenomenon; what we see before death. It's an experience that few have lived to explain (for obvious reasons). But it's like a movie reel, from back when they were in black and white. You see memories that you might have forgotten or pushed in the back of your mind to make room for the new. They may have seemed unimportant at the time, but now you grasp on because they're all you've got at the moment; all that you have left to comfort you in this terrifying state of mind that you can't seem to escape. The reel started to slow its turmoil, pinpointing on one specific moment that I thought I'd never see again.

_The park was filled with green trees swaying in the breeze; an atmosphere of lazy, laidback calmness floated along with them. The dirt crunched between the young boy's sneakers and his father's loafers. The child giddily hopped along the worn path, dragging his father as the older man laughed, obnoxiously thick eyebrows scrunching and emerald green eyes twinkled with mirth. A bag was slung over the adults shoulder, making him look even more hunch-backed than he already did as the kid led him to what came to be his favorite place in the world; the baseball diamond._

_ The field was obviously unkempt as weeds overflowed the grass, but neither of them cared. They were with each other and that was all that mattered. They played for hours; the blue-eyed boy claiming that he was an expert at the game from all the baseball he watched on television. He still found a way to hit the ball, even though his dad probably had the worst pitching known to mankind. Every swing the kid took was filled with so much passion and energy that you could almost see it levitating around him. He was destined for greatness and even his father, who had never held a baseball until this moment, could see it. Pride and joy filled his heart as he watched his son slug the ball past him over and over again until the six year old insisted it was his turn to pitch. _

_ This went on until the blond-haired boy couldn't take it anymore. Exhaustion overtook him as he fell asleep in his father's arms with his head resting on the man's shoulder and his arms dangled limply around his guardian's neck._

_ On the way home, the duo picked up fast food through a drive thru, despite the British man's resentment towards the creation. He decided that the smile that lit his son's face was worth suffering through the greasy abomination that people referred to as a meal. _

_ They went home to the small apartment they resided in and rented a couple movies. They all featured superheroes by the younger boy's request. His father watched in amusement as his son's eyes blossomed with admiration for the characters on the screen. Eventually they both passed out, cuddled up next to each other on the shabby sofa, not being able to think of a place they'd rather be._

That was my fondest memory with my father. I couldn't think of a happier moment with him. He was always busy, being a single dad and not being able to afford taking a couple days off work. As I got older, I had to spend more and more time at a friend's house or with a nanny because he would never be home enough to do much more than get a few hours of rest. I guess that sparked something inside of me; I started acting rowdy and rebellious, hoping to draw his attention for maybe even a few moments. When I did finally, I was met with his scornful gaze, not the joyous eyes that he once had. I don't know how he reacted with all the other times I caused trouble because he began to ignore me all together. Occasionally he'd visit the hospital if I was in critical condition, but most of the time he'd send a get well card and seldom a bar of chocolate. I was so selfish and now I regret it. I would never get to apologize for being so stupid and self-centered towards the man who worked his ass off day and night just to make sure I had a roof over my head.

Now he'll get a phone call at his work as a page editor for the local news that his good-for-nothing son who's been in and out of the hospital all his life has finally kicked the bucket. I'm sure he won't cry; not at work anyway. He'll politely excuse himself in that patronizing English accent and calmly walk out of his office building with a face that screams I-may-not-look-like-it-but-I-could-mess-you-up. He'll enter the apartment only to find it empty with a couple comic books scattered here and there, a stone cold expression still plastered in his eyes. Picking up books and grumbling to himself of how messy I was, he'd finally realize I won't be coming back. Only then might he cry; otherwise, he'd probably dance on my grave.

There's nothing I can do at this point though. My chest was constricting itself, my ribs caving in against my lungs. The constant beeps began to slow as my vision became blotchy. Seventeen years was by far not enough, but evidently it was all I was going to get.

Strangely enough, in my final moments I thought of the one person I forced out of my life; the one person who I felt understood me. He always had my back whenever I came up with new antics to spite my father. Whenever I got lonely, I'd climb through his window and he'd let me in his home as if I already lived there. I guess we could relate to each other in the way of being ignored; though his invisibility followed him everywhere while mine was restricted only to the boundaries of my home. I broke him though. I know I did. I think it would have been better if we had never met, so I would never have to leave him to deal with the world alone. But no; I was stupid enough to drag him into my problems and issues the first day I saw him in the halls.

I guess fate is just funny in that way.

One moment, you could be rolling through the motions; flying through the timed turmoil we call life when all of a sudden, the motions change and the movements could never adapt to the new way your body worked. Nothing was the way it used to be, but that was okay because the world stopped seeming so dull and repetitive.

I could tell you that this is the story of my epic star-crossed love or that my life was a sad-sob poem that was tragically short. I could tell you, but that would be a load of bullshit now wouldn't it? Frankly, I won't have the time to tell you now, since it appears that my remaining moments are coming to a close.

But I will tell you this much; life's a bitch. Fate will sell you on fake promises and pretty faces. It'll hold you in an iron grasp but claim that it barely pats you. You might meet a person so beautiful and so kind that it makes you think the world isn't such a cruel place. But then you'll have to hurt them, and you can see their face crumbling, causing knives to pierce through your heart.

Life may be a bitch, but it isn't constant. It revolves and spins on an axis. It may take an eternity just to find your own but you will find one. Sometimes, a single soul touches your own in such a way that your world fused with theirs, becoming one.

_I'm sorry Matthew. I hope you find peace in this world._

**_Author's Note: _**** Hey! I just want to thank you for reading this story! I'm planning on making it several chapters long. Anyway, I love constructive criticism so don't be afraid to review! I hope you enjoyed it so far!**

** -TheOneWhoFought**


	3. If

Alfred

_Five Years Later_

"Rise and shine, Al!" an overly cheerful, yet old and slightly ragged, voice chirped with faux excitement as I blinked my eyes open, being greeted by the harsh sunlight that poured through the windows. I groaned, twisting my head back into my pillow. Well, I was doing it as best I could with these damned wires and tubes sticking out of my body. Miss Mary-Anne, my one and only nurse, seemed to sense my action without even facing my direction as she strutted over and ripped the blankets off my body. The cold air of the hospital crashed against my exposed skin as the homely smell of my blanket was replaced with that of antiseptics and illness.

"Alright! Alright, I'm up," I huffed out, sitting up against the metal frame of the poor excuse for a bed. I ran a hand through my disheveled hair and groped the nightstand for my glasses with the other. She inspected the beeping machine that I could never remember the name of beside me while jotting down a few things on the clipboard, just as she did every morning. She flipped the paper over and turned back to me,"You up for a physical therapy session today?"

My eyes widened as I shot forward, "Really? Yes!"

She giggled at my reaction and studied the paper further, furrowing her eyebrows. Shit; I knew what this meant. There was always some sort of loophole to all of this. I would finally be able to step out of this stupid chicken coop but I would have to be on a leash or something of the likes. I slumped back onto the bed, my wheat blonde hair falling in front of my eyes as my right hand fisted the blankets, which were gathered in a lump by my side. I sighed and finally looked up at the brunette, "If there's someone else who's been waiting longer, I can always take the next open slot."

That was the thing with this hospital; overpopulated but understaffed. Only one physical therapist for a hospital that has about 300 patients is far from enough. Miss Mary-Anne's golden brown eyes rose to meet mine, "No. That's not it," she started, studying her files more, "Later today, I'm scheduled to help out Mr. Rosenberg down the hall with the younger children. It says you have a new nurse."

"What!?" came my voice before I knew I had even opened my mouth. How could this be happening? Mary-Anne was my nurse since day-one in this awful place. Sure, she was kind of old, but how could they replace her? A thousand questions raced in my head at a million miles an hour. She seemed so shocked by this, which means no one even told her that this was happening! I was beyond pissed at this point, but she didn't seem to be too worried because her eyes crinkled in at the corners as she smiled at me, lines of age seeming to grow deeper,"Oh, Alfred," she chuckled, "This always happens to the older nurses like me, so don't get so worked up about it. They get sent to work with the children because they're more sensitive and understanding than the younger help here."

Her eyes glossed over with tears as she ran a hand through her brown hair, which was now streaked with grey. She sniffled, "I just didn't think they'd take me away this early."

I shook my head as water gathered in my own eyes. If I wasn't in a hospital bed, I would launch myself straight into her arms at this very moment. This woman had become a mother to me over the years. She had built me to be strong, even though my body was weak. She would always tell me "A strong body will give you the strength to survive any form of torture, but a strong mind would give you the strength to live on beyond the Hell". I never understood that until I met Gilbert Beilschmidt; once my roommate. He was a funny-looking guy, I'll tell you that much; with his white hair and glowing red vampire eyes, but he was a good man, nonetheless. He took pride in his German- excuse me, _Prussian_ heritage, but he was young; a bit older than me, but still young. Too young to have to go through the kind of pain he did. He had enlisted in the military the day he turned eighteen and trained for years until he was based in Afghanistan.

At least, he _was_ based there.

Three days later, his base was bombed by foreign forces, killing some, and injuring the rest. Gilbert was one of the" lucky" ones who had made it out alive. He told me the story in great detail, from the bodies he had crawled over, to his horror when he found his two high school friends, Antonio and Francis, buried underneath the rubble without a pulse. I had so much respect for the man, who ended up losing his leg due to infection.

That is, until I woke up to him with a cord tied around his neck. That moment still haunts me to this day.

I wouldn't talk for about two months after that and I wasn't allowed to leave the hospital to go to his funeral. The stupid bastard was so selfish; he really didn't know what he left behind. His stiff little brother, Ludwig, dropped by quite often with a small ditsy Italian hanging on his arm. They'd talk to Gilbert about things they'd do once he was released and Gil would agree, saying that 'zhe awesome me is too awesome for these stupid hospitals anyway!' The sick thing was that we all believed him.

No one saw what was lurking behind his crimson orbs. No one saw the memories and the pain that housed itself within his mind, which drained everything from him, that tore him apart. Words couldn't describe how he felt and he wouldn't try to explain it to the therapists and doctors that tried to help him. They all tried to help. His brother tried to help. The Italian tried to help. I tried to help.

But there was no helping Gilbert, because he died in the explosion along with his friends and comrades. He was only a shell of his former self. He wrote a note, and said he was doing us all a favor by disposing the empty body.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I left like Gil. I know for a fact that Dad wouldn't mourn. He had stopped visiting me the day I turned eighteen. He doesn't even send holiday cards anymore. I know he hates me, but apparently not enough to where he stops paying the hospital bill, which must be sky-high. The only person in the whole world who would miss me was Miss Mary-Anne, but now she's leaving…

"-fred? Alfred, are you still with me?"

I snapped from my dazed state with a jolt that shook the whole hospital bed, "Yeah, sorry. I just kind of blanked out, I guess."

A heavy sigh fell from her lips, "It's almost time for me to go. Your new nurse will be in here shortly," she knelt beside me, her old doe eyes gazing into my tired ones. She lifted her hand to meet my hairline, gently raking her nails through my blonde locks in a comforting manner. Her lips were pulled in a thin line, until they fell into a sad smile, "Oh Alfred, promise me one thing?" I nodded, trying my best not to choke up, but failing, "Promise me you'll fight this disease. Promise me you will win the battle. Alfred, with your strength and heart, you could be the last man standing. You are destined to be great."

The dam broke as a tear streaked down my cheek, then another, and another, until I basically looked like a sobbing baby. This time, I did wrap my arms around the older woman, sitting up further so she didn't have to lean over. I sniffed, burying my head into her shoulder. She truly was all I had left in this world and it hurt knowing that she was being forced away from me, just like Dad, just like Gilbert,

Just like Matthew.

One person abandoned me; one left this world all together, one I shoved away until he gave up, and now one that was being ripped from my arms. It seemed that everyone I had ever gotten close to left me in one way or another.

She stood, tenderly pulling away and wiping her own eyes free of the glass tears that had cascaded down her rosy cheeks, "Be strong, Alfred. And for heaven's sake, keep being-"she paused, choking on her words, "Just please keep being you."

And with that, she fled the room.

There was no final goodbye, no closure; just the slam of the door to finalize the situation. She was gone, just like the rest of them, but I guess that's how they all left; some physically, and others metaphorically.

I sunk down into the stiff mattress, until I was lying flat on my back and staring at the blank ceiling. I couldn't even bring myself to cry, not anymore anyway. The blank ceiling was taunting me; I could tell because of its emptiness. The ceiling didn't have feelings and couldn't feel what I had to go through. Sometimes, I wish I was a ceiling, or maybe even a lamp, because maybe then I could actually support something or give off light like Matthew was convinced I could do. I wish he was here. I wish Miss Mary-Anne was here. I wish Gilbert was here. I wish Dad was here.

I just wish I wasn't so damn alone in this world.

**Author's Note:**** Hello once again! I will be switching between Alfred and Matthew's Povs for the whole story. I want to thank everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed. It really means a lot to me. I'm sorry for the wait for this chapter. I had a bad case of writer's block. I have a plot for this story, I promise. **

**-TheOneWhoFought**


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